Nothing is static
by Arthur Eisner
Summary: Everything is appaling. Everything is falling apart. People aren't static too. They're changing over times, and only one who's same as always is me.
1. No integrity

Disclaimer: Characters and series are property of their owners.

Author's warnings: Contains some cruel and ugly material.

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* * *

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**No integrity**

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White haze.

I walk as if blind, following the smell. The streets are empty, hushed. Through an open window I see a family sitting down to supper. Behind them a television flickers in silent, bleeding colors. The smell expands and I stop. That smell, something. Traffic lights change red to green with no cars to stop or go. My boots scrape. Gun in my hand jingles. If I concentrate just so, there is the subconscious hum of something about to happen. I'm dragging my left leg behind me, bleeding. Holding my ribcage with gun in my right hand, which is bleeding of course. I keep telling myself I'm a lizard, I'm trying to watch myself from distance. _No_, that's not it. I'm trying to subdue the pain. The gun has few spare bullets, just enough to finish it now.

There's a sound in the street.

I ready the gun.

I scan the street and a rambling figure approaches, shape shifting through morphine white. Something familiar in the short warped stride. Coming closer and I see it's a male in middle thirties. Tall and muscular, wearing loose torn shorts. One leg hanging longer than the other. Disintegrating gray T-shirt with ripped pocket and shapeless brown hat. It looks like Jet, and now I remember. Someone said he was living around here. It's been five years and I sift what news I've had. Jet's former and present girlfriend supposedly had a kid. I can't remember the girlfriend's name, though I fondled her once, in a vacant street.

Her name with phone number was written on my hand, but it disappeared with dead skin and I never called her.

I should have_, no, no, no... I was drunk._

Weird is, that my brain is able to remember, in my shape.  
I cough out blood.  
Now I know that the rumors about swallowing pint of blood without getting sick are true.

But back to the present, _don't_ let brain remember any pain.

_Okay... where was I?  
_Oh, yeah, Jet's girlfriend.

She stopped bleeding and they were married by a judge. Last thing I heard they had an accident. Jet supposedly freaked out driving high in the rain and went over a guard rail. The car rolled five times. He was barely hurt but she went through the window face first, and the kid was born retarded or something. And since then, I don't know. Jet is a friend, but I stopped seeing him after my dying act. Pain ceases with adrenaline. I think Jet will just fade past. Or I think he'll kill me, even in my state. Eyes flick over me and away. I hesitate. Jet stops and now my hand holding ribcage and gun goes tense.

"Thought it was you, Spike."

I hide the gun and my wounds, then I insert hands in pockets, acting normally.  
I remember the fight we had when we first met, and I wonder if killing him would be any different than anyone else.

"Jet... Heard you were around." I say.

"What happened, you were kinda limping for a while?" He says.

"It's... nothing." I say.

_Silence._

"Okay, why needing a gun then?" He says.

That's it, he'll kill me now.

I take a big breath and try to center my enlightened spiritual entity.

_Raindrops on roses.  
Happy animals.  
Green leaves._

This makes my parts hurt even more.

"Nevermind. My place is down the street. Come up and say hello to Alisa." He says.

_Yeah..._ now he mentions it, that was her name.

I think.

I wonder how much time I have until I die.  
_Or._  
Why the hell I'm hiding my wounds?

Jet's left eyelid is nervous, twitching under the brim of his hat, a fishing hat that was once white now brown with dirt. I can't say no. His voice has changed, mutated somehow, but I would know him anywhere. Two claustrophobic minutes to the apartment building without speaking. Jet stares ahead and rattles keys around in his pocket. The building is old brick. Small balconies with dark rusted screens. Heavy iron fire escape. The kind of radiators that hammer all night. I follow Jet up creaking stairs. Dust rising. Jet wears rotting tennis shoes secured with duct tape. Orange socks. Reminds me of my former apartment. Finally the door and I have to say something. I'm curious about... _what was the name again?_ I'm curious about that girl, if she had a child then...

"How long you guys lived here?"

"Two. Maybe three years."

Jet fumbles with the lock while I calculate. The baby would be about three. It was surely not mine.

"Where you working?" I say.

"Don't need to work." Jet approximates a grin. "Insurance." He says.

The air is trapped inside. The mingling, intimate stench of wet carpet and cigarettes. Tomato sauce and fried egg. Puppy shit and baby puke and semen and mold. I feel gun in my pocket. Jet takes off his hat, then his shirt. Soon he puts the hat back on. The heat is fierce and the windows are shut.

"Painted shut." Jet says. "Take off your shirt, if you want."

I hesitate, then drag off my shirt. Drop it in a chair and follow Jet, who walks sideways crablike circling and his eyes steady on me. This is so surreal that I forget about the calculation. _No_, I forgot everything.

"This is the living room." He says.

"Decent light in the morning but the carpet's all the time damp. Can't figure it out. This here is the kitchen. Too small for doing much and the garbage needs going out. Hey. Let's get a drink."

"No." I say. "I don't drink." I lie.

I'm under several painkillers. And diet pills.

"What do you drink, then?"

"Coffee, most of the time."

"Never touch it. Bad for my stomach."

"That's fine. Really."

"Well..." Jet says. "In here's the sunroom. Always little dust particles floating around in the light. If it was sunny you could see. Bedroom is back there."

There is almost no furniture in the apartment. Boxes and dust and scattered trash. I listen but I don't hear baby sounds. The bedroom door is closed. My stomach growls. I smell oranges, bright and sweet. Left hand feels strangely numb and I make a fist, then pain attacks my stomach. I'm fucked up. I swallow another mouthful of blood.

I only await vomiting now.

"That is some killer ink." Jet says.

He's looking at my chest. The _tattoo_, shaped by my scar, is a boa constrictor, slightly coiled. The head is poised to bite the nipple. The work is crude, with scars. It was done when after I killed Vicious, at some low-grade hospital downtown. I just wanted some memorandum, and Vicious as a snake was best choice. Now I am snake looking for prey, choking it first... _fuck those pills._ Is it me, or just my imagination? What am I thinking? _Geez._

"It goes all the way down." I say.

"Down what?" He asks.

"Past my waist."

"Oh, yeah. Let's see."

I hesitate, then sit on a coffee table to take off my boots.

"Better take your socks off. Else get them wet."

"Uh huh."

Then... his girlfriend walks in from the next room. She wears a dirty white T-shirt and panties. Her hands are red, covered with jelly. Her face is normal, no sing of any car accident. Her mouth is opened slightly, the lips don't meet. Her jaw and left cheek are shiny with scar tissue. That she's beautiful is easy to see. Yeah I was drunk, but... _strange, I feel attached._

"Look who's here." Jet says. "It's Spike."

"Spike?" Her mouth jerks.

"Hello... Uh...?" I say.

"Alisa." She says.

"Hello, Alisa." I say.

I kissed her mouth in a vacant street, five years ago. Her lips were heavy and red, her tongue fierce. Now she sticks a finger in her mouth and licks away the jelly.

"How are you? I hear you had a baby." I say.

"Oh, yes. A beautiful baby boy."

We are good actors, I think.  
Well it's me, not her, who's wounded.

"I'd like to see him."

"He's sleeping now. But maybe another time."

She smiles and sucks at her finger.

The pain shoots through my chest right into my leg.

"I have to... _go_."

Alisa is making noises like a bird chirping. She presses herself up against Jet, her hands moving over his chest and arms, leaving red streaks of the jelly. But this isn't jelly. This is red-eye. Her mouth goes to his throat. Jet just stares hard at me. Alisa grunts softly, pushing with her hips. She steps back and shrugs out of the shirt. Her breasts are visible. Stretch marks on her dark flat belly. Now the underpants drop and she is naked against Jet._ What the hell happened?_ He stands there like a statue. I stare at her. I try hard not to remember something five years old. But for nothing, memories just stick out. Her body is lovely. I need to go now, or I'll forget about Faye and... another quick stare.

_Maybe_, I should.

"I really have to go." I say.

No response from Jet. Alisa makes animal sounds.

I look around. _Where the hell is my shirt?_

Alisa's body wriggles against Jet, who responds only with his mouth. His hands never touch her. This would be me if I wasn't drunk five years ago, not like I want it. I find my shirt, tuck it into my belt. My feet are wet from the mildewed carpet. The blood crashes in my head. Feels like my eyes are expanding in their sockets. _Hell... Sh...it_. I bring out my gun, and beat it twice in my head. Mouth's hot and I try to swallow. Pull on my socks, torn cotton sticking against skin. I get them on at last and focus on the laces of my boots. My fingers don't work. I hear what sounds like a groan of protest from Alisa.

I look up.

She's sitting on the floor with her back to me, a posing nude. The ridged shadows of her spine like an exhibit at the zoo. Jet is gone. Now the left boot feels too tight, like I have two socks on that foot. The laces are in sweaty knots and I'm fucked if I'll try to work them loose. Gun's still in my fist, it is called Jericho, and only cops were using it. _I have to get the fuck out, or I'll..._ I want to say something to Alisa but I think I'll... Her back is still to me. This is none of my business. There's a nudge at my left shoulder and I turn and Jet is kneeling beside me with a dead puppy cradled in his arms. Holding it up to my face as if to let it kiss me and the expression on his face is that of a father offering me his newborn for inspection. I go blank. This is not the baby. Jet thrusts the dead puppy at me and I jerk my head back. I try to stand but Jet has the collar of my shirt in a mechanical fist, pulling hard and now I feel the puppy's cold nose touch my lips. My gun shoots out of blue and hit Jet in the foot. The puppy drops like a piece of firewood. But he just fall backwards like if he fainted. Blood sprayed over my legs.

This is my friend, Jet.  
_Or._  
Was?

Red haze.

Everything before my eyes is red. The world with no integrity. The room is full of damp red whitish color. I walk as if blind. The feeling of snake is gone. I tell myself I'm a lizard. Only like this I can kill, thinking I'm just watching some horror movie. Boa constrictor, the scar covered in blood. Left part of my body is numb. I drag my left feet. She's sitting before me. The baby cries. Rise and fall like traffic. After a few seconds it makes me sick, nervous.

"Uh... Alisa." I say.

"What?"

"The baby is crying."

"That's normal."

"It doesn't sound normal."

Then I'm choking. He's holding me tight. Locks his mechanical arm under my throat. I struggle and kick, pulling at his arm. I can't breathe and I realize that he's crushing my windpipe. He's using my technique. Only boa constrictor, me, can use it.

_Or._  
Could?

"I'm not Alisa anymore." She says.

"W...at... you... mean?" I say.

"I'm Faye. From now on, you have to call me Faye."

"Fa... ye?" I say.

_What the hell is happening?!_

"That's right."

I can only look. The grip is too tight. He has my spine in control, so I'm unable to move. The apartment is nothing but a box of dust. The sun doesn't live here.

_No integrity._

"Okay. Are you ready?" She says.

"Wh... th... f...?"

The baby cries.  
Boa constrictor, the scar covered in blood.  
Sunny day.  
Burning veins in my brain.

_Fuck it.  
Just fuck it.  
Fuck it all._

Bad cough, blood in it.  
No matter now.

Baby cries.

_No way out._

My left leg moves, I can move with my left leg.

Metal hand is around my neck.

_-You're dead anyway._

-_All people have to guard their lives, because they're special._

_-Expect you._

Emotionless voice.

Maybe so...

No.  
You're wrong.  
We are not special.  
We are not different.

We are crap.  
We are trash.  
Nothing more.  
Something we throw out when it starts to stink.

So...

I concentrate the energy to my left leg and jump back crushing Jet against the wall. His grip relaxes, and I ease his arm from my neck and spin around at high speed. Pointing gun. Baby cries. Alisa slumps down at the floor. I was choking for too long. My skin's the color of the dust. I prepare my gun.

Five years before. Night, vacant street. A girl thin and catlike dressed usually, wearing boots with bare legs. Skin pale green and lips black under buzzing lights. My back against a wall. Long cool tongue darting into my mouth. I reached under her clothes and tore it open. She was naked under a thin shirt. Pale and cold as if dead. I was weak and trying not to pass out. Then she scratched her number on my hand. Blue ink wrinkled in pale skin and I promised to call her. To help her. I promised.

I never called her.  
And I never helped her.

I shoot out the window and dive out, the world around is all slow-motioned, like all those games these days.

I fall on my legs and then feel pain.

I run.  
I run.

I run.

My muscles burn.

I run.

My body is pumping battery acid.

And I run some more...

I'll vomit later.


	2. This is your life

* * *

**This is your life**

----

I fell in ugly back alley and spat out my dinner.

Throw the rules out of window? Odds are you'll go that way too.

I did. Broke my left arm along with left leg. So now I'm braced and bandaged before hospital. The bullets I got missed all important organs, expect liver, but that was fucked anyway. Nice liver sausage, doctors laughed. And they laughed as they threw kidney-stone at me. This got along the way. Yeah, well, whatever. I don't have insurance. Which means I'm fucked, but I can live with it.

Clouds race across the sky black as smoke. Thunder. I always liked how weather greets me when I'm wounded. I smell conspiracy behind all this.

I make it to the ship just as the storm opens up. My phone is blinking, a message from Faye. _Dog needs a little walk,_ she says. Her voice is quiet and cold. Ein paces the ship, nervous about the thunder. I find Alisa cleaning the kitchen. I wonder what the hell happened. The bright smell of bleach. She uses bleach on everything. She spills it on her hands. She runs her fingers through her hair, which accounts for the streaks of yellow and white.

"Your hair is going to fall out." I say.

She is on her knees, scrubbing at the floor with a blue sponge. The floor is perfectly clean.

"That was Faye," I say. "On the machine."

Sure she couldn't pick it up. Should I ask what the hell is she doing here, or just shut up and play nice. Years with woman on ship taught me that the second opinion is best. I keep my mouth close shut.

Alisa looks up, hair falling around her face. The rain still comes down in gray sheets outside and she looks almost normal in soft half light. She wears a pair of my old jeans, faded slipping down over her hips. I see the edge of black underpants, a slash of brown belly. I feel myself getting hard.

"Close your eyes." She says.

"Why?"

"Play nice." She says.

I sigh and shut my eyes.

"Can you see me?" she says. "I'm on my back, on the floor. I'm bleeding from the mouth and you're fucking me to shreds. Can you see me?"

"I can see you." I say.

"Open your eyes." She says.

I resurface and try to control my breath. I don't know what's wrong with me. I turn on the overhead light and now I see the shadows of her face.

"Come on," she says. "Hit me."

"I'm not going to hit you... uh Faye." Unpleasant feeling in my gunned gut.

"Then go see her." She says.

Alisa dips the sponge into the bucket of bleach and water. She makes a fist.

"Do you want to come with me?"

I'm all braced anyway, so having someone with me is. _Eh_, kind of Jet's insurance.

"No." She says.

_Whatever.  
_Where's Faye again anyway?

I crutch out of the ship.

When things on the ship don't work out, and Faye grows bored or tired of me. She bails out and rent apartment, the same all the time. I don't know why.  
It's a short walk to that apartment. The storm lets up and everything is steaming. I stop at the Pig for cigarettes and ice-cream. I desperately need the sugar. The painkillers I took work that way. I realize I'm sweating. I feel claustrophobic in my clothes. Well, braces and bandages are my new clothes. It is garage apartment, down an alley. The smell of honeysuckle. Two dogs sniffing at a rotten head of lettuce. One of them looks up growling and I kick a rock in their direction with my good leg. I can't believe how expensive ice-cream is.

I find Faye in the bedroom, Alisa's baby sleeping beside her. All the things spinning in my head suddenly stop, as they fall into the right holes called deduction. After the incident with Jet, she could take the kid and run away. Could get on the ship. Could be still under red-eye. And Faye... well, she took the child and rent apartment. There were two messages on my phone. But I forgot it again. Fuck. I think about it. And all the ways which lead out of this... well, dead ends.

_This is your life_.

Kid's three years old. He wears a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. It looks like a dress. Faye wears white bikini shorts and a man's blue shirt. Her legs are thin and pale. She is younger than me. Asleep she could be sixteen. She is sweating in her sleep, hair at her temples damp.

_And its ending one minute at a time._

I kiss her on the ear and whisper, "Faye, wake up."

She opens her eyes and touches a finger to her lips. She doesn't want to wake him. I nod and go to the kitchen. The apartment is dark. A fan pushes air back and forth. I fill a glass with water and find empty ice trays in the freezer. I leave the ice cream out to soften. Faye comes from the bedroom with a hairbrush in one hand. Her nose is sunburned. She has skin delicate as a peach. Her shirt hangs open. The lace edge of her bra.

"What the he-" I ask.

"It's impossible to get him to sleep." She says.

"I brought ice-cream."

I leave the conclusion at that, for now.

"We were up half the night," she says. "I thought babies were supposed to cry themselves to sleep, but he just cries harder." Faye looks at me, smiling. "I love having him here." She says.

No shooting at me, at least.

"He's not normal." I say.

She brushes her hair with short even strokes.

"He's three." I say. "Its J-" I stop in middle of sentence, Jet's kid. Hell. She doesn't want to know that. Does she?

"I don't know." She says.

"He doesn't even talk." I say.

"Look at his mother." Faye bites the word.

I was thirteen when my friend found a sick raccoon in the alley, half dead in the sun. Blood in one eye. Black ants in gray fur. The belly hard and swollen and she said it must be pregnant. I said no, it's dying. It would be in the shade otherwise. She made me swear not to tell the foster parents because they'd kill it. She stayed with that coon all day. In case the babies came, she said. She got a black umbrella from the hall closet to block the sun. She put water in a Frisbee but the coon never took a drink. Then it was time for supper. She was a nervous wreck until after the news when parents went to sleep. She climbed out the bathroom window and didn't ask me to go with her. I woke up and found her in my room, crying. The coon was dead. I pulled her into bed with me and told her a story. In the morning there was dirt in my bed. She buried that coon with her hands.

The history is repati... no, I hope not.

Together we sit on the couch, listening to the fan blow dead air around. Faye puts her foot on my leg. I try to feed her ice cream but she shakes her head.

"Its Je-" No, I can't.

"Do you want to keep him?" I say.

Faye plays with a ring on her finger. "What about Alisa?"

"I think it's what she wants."

"We don't have a lot of money, for food and stuff."

"Don't worry. I have money in the bank."

"It won't last." She says.

"Something will happen," I say. "Something always happens."

"I'll keep him," she says. "Of course I will."

She kisses the corner of my mouth. I still hold her foot in my hands, pale as an egg. Hundreds of brittle bones under the skin. I push her foot away and go to the kitchen. I fill the ice trays. Henry, she calls him, wakes up screaming and Faye goes to him.

-

I don't need anything but the place reassures me. The way the electric doors suck open. The sudden noise of cash registers and boys throwing open the paper bags. The smell of dust and oil from the parking lot crashing with bread and flowers. I could buy flowers for Faye but she would laugh at me. I could buy dog food for Ein. On wooden benches along the front window, old men recline in the air conditioning. A muzak version of Dear Prudence trembles from hidden loudspeakers.

A girl comes through the doors in a yellow dress.

She is about sixteen and limping, hopping on one foot like she has a rock in her shoe. She holds a slip of paper in one hand. She examines it, standing with bad leg bent. Dipping her head like a yellow bird. Her lips move slightly. She limps off toward the produce, a red shopping basket dangling from her wrist. From behind her hair is like Julia's and I limp along behind her purely by instinct. The limp grows more pronounced and she crashes into an elderly woman. _'I'm sorry'_ she says. Her voice a bright whisper. Then with a backward arm the girl takes down a pyramid of apples. The other shoppers keep moving, ignoring the girl in yellow dress. Apples roll and twirl in all directions. The girl sits down abruptly and takes off her shoe. The yellow dress slips up her long thigh, apples stopping green around her. She studies her bare foot.

"Do you need some help?" I say.

She chews her lip. "No."

"What's wrong with your foot?"

She glances at me, fearless and pretty.

"Think I sprained it."

"How'd you do that?"

She flashes her teeth. "Softball. I was sliding into second."

"What about you?" She says.

She noticed the braced arm and leg.

"Bungee jumping." I say.

She is very young.

"Let me see." I say.

She shrugs and I crouch next to her. I examine her foot without touching it. She smells of mint. The ankle is swollen, not badly.

"Can you move it?" I say.

"Yeah. But it hurts."

I know what hurts. Bullet in the stomach hurts. Fall from second floor hurts.

I help her stand up. Her hand is small and slightly damp. The top of her head comes to my throat. I tell her to put ice on the ankle when she gets home. She nods. Over her shoulder I see him, grinning and bobbing his head. He comes toward us, an open carton of chocolate milk in one hand. Girl takes a step back.

_-Ma'am._

"Thanks," she says to me. Then drifts away.

_'He'_ picks up a fallen apple and turns to watch the girl.

_-Not half bad._

He chomps the apple.

"She's a kid." I say.

_-Old enough to fight back._

"What do you want?"

He offers me the chocolate milk. The cardboard opening looks chewed on. I shake my head. He starts walking and I follow. I tell myself he is not my responsibility, and still I follow. He leaves his chewed apple core on a shelf. He opens a bag of cheese puffs and insists on sharing them.

"Technically," I say. "You're shoplifting."

_-Bullshit._

His lips are orange.

_-I'm sampling. The same thing as flipping through a magazine._

He keeps moving and helpless I follow.

_-You know that puppy. The other day?_

And you open the door and step inside.

"Yeah. How do _you_ know it?"

We're inside our hearts.

"You're dead."

Now imagine your pain as a white ball of healing light.

_-Just happened to be there_.

That's right the pain itself is a white ball of healing light.

I don't think so.

"...So what happened to it?" I say.

_-She mainly ignored it. Then one day it's dead._

"How did it die?"

He shoves in another mouthful of cheese puffs. He chews violently.

"Are you saying she killed that puppy?" I say.

_-You seem a righteous man, Spike. Ain't you?_

"What?"

He leans in close.

_-Are you a fisher of men? he says. Or a fisherman?_

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

_-You might know where Alisa is?_

"No," I say. "I don't know where she is."

_-You know where she is Spike, you're making the same mistake, like before with me... and her. Look at you. Think about yourself._

_-Remember, why do you think I gave you this._

He points at the Boa constrictor, no, the scar hidden by it.

I get the fuck out of there. When I reach the ship, its locked and Alisa is gone. Ein goes bugshit when I walk in. I guess he's glad to see me. I haven't given Alisa a key yet, because she hasn't asked for one. The emergency escape hatch. She went out the emergency hatch. I make a tomato sandwich and eat it sitting on couch. I go to the bathroom and wash my hands. Throw water on my hair. I have work soon. I try not to worry about Alisa. Tell myself I don't want to know where she is, what she's doing.

_-This is your life._

I tend bar at a cavernous industrial shithole called, appropriately, the Hole. The band hasn't started yet and the crowd is thin. The other bartender is out back doing red-eye. I slog beer and ashes along the bar with a towel. A girl with blurry red eyes and yellow hair takes a stool before me. She orders a draft. The tap is slow. The beer is cheap and warm.

_-Good to the last drop, doesn't get any better than this_.

"What's your name?" I say.

She's high, twitching. Her upper lip is pierced with a silver ring and she sucks on it. She wears a transparent gauze dress. Her belly is curved and hard. Heavy breasts. Swollen nipples.

I stare. "Are you pregnant?"

The girl shrugs. "Fuck off."

She pays for the beer with a handful of change.

Faye calls at eleven. The music is loud, booming. I can barely hear her. My own voice seems to bounce back at me. The mouthpiece is sticky and wet. Faye screams and I understand just three words. _She is here_. I turn to the crowd.

-_Only after disaster can we be resurrected._

Distended arms and hair and faces.

_-Its only after you've lost everything, that you're free to do anything._

He talks to me, He talks... talks about crap, I killed him.

_-Nothing is static... Everything is appalling, everything is falling apart._

He is here. Dead and Alive.

-_This is your life._

Everything.

Has.

Fallen.

Apart.


	3. Silence

I was thinking about this, the rating will be M. So it is now.**

* * *

**

**Silence**

----

"The moon's gibbous tonight."

Past midnight when I get out of the Hole. I replay Faye's voice in my head. _She is here._ The words cold and flat. It might be nothing. Light rain falling. Car stinks of bad milk. I crank the window down and smoke. The left side of my face is wet. Quite hard to drive with one arm braced, but nevermind. I park in the alley and when I get out of the car I hear music, thick and distorted. Sounds like Elvis and it's coming from Faye's rented apartment. Little misunderstanding. The door is wide open and Faye sits on the floor as if she fell there. She's barefoot. She wears a short red dress, a cocktail party dress. Like she stumbled out of bed in the dark and pulled something from the closet. One strap falling down over thin white shoulder. She looks stoned. She looks up as I turn down the stereo.

"Where is she?" I say.

"The bedroom. With Henry."

"What's with the music?" I say.

Faye shrugs. "She says the baby is deaf and that's why he can't talk."

"Do you think so?"

"No. I think he has brain damage. From the accident."

"What is she doing back there?"

"I don't know. Do you have a cigarette?"

"Are you okay?" I say.

Faye shakes her head. She looks tired, scared. I crouch next to her. I touch her face. Her eyes are raw and dilated. A mosquito bite near her collarbone. Between her breasts the silk is crumpled, as if recently pulled and twisted in a fist. The dress clings to her belly. I glance at her legs. She has a small cut below one knee from shaving. And her thigh is badly bruised. Purple skin in the shape of a mouth turning white along the edges. I touch it, and pull my hand away. Her skin seems to breathe.

"What the fuck is this?"

Her lips shake and she starts to laugh. I light a cigarette and give it to her.

"Did Henry do this?"

She trembles and I move my hand up, along her inner thigh.

Faye tries to inhale, choking.

"She," Faye says. "She bit me."

Alisa comes out of the bedroom, Henry asleep in her arms. She lowers him to the sofa and reaches for her jacket. I stand to face her and she smiles.

"Spike." She says.

"What are you doing ...Alisa?"

"I'm taking Henry."

"Why?"

"Faye is very sexy," she says. "And delicious, as you know-"

My good arm goes tense. I make a fist.

"Fuck you."

"But I'm afraid she's not much of a mother." Says Alisa.

I can only watch as my closed fist swings through heavy bright silence. Try to pull it back but it's long gone. Alisa doesn't move or try to duck and I hit her just below the throat. She crashes over a chair. Henry screams. I look at my hand, then at Alisa. My head is buzzing with insects and I can't think. How to stop this and it's already happened. Alisa lies crumpled on the floor, her breathing ragged. She flashes a broken smile at me as she pulls herself up.

I don't hit women.

_-Right._

I don't.

_-So?_

Nothing.

I think nothing is as it was before.

_-I think you're more and more... well, vicious._

Maybe.

I sit on the couch, holding a glass of water. Muscles tremble in my legs as if I have just narrowly missed wrecking my car. Alisa whispers nonsense to the kid, who still cries violently. Faye packs diapers and baby gear into a pillowcase. She doesn't look at me. Her face gray and stony. I slap at my pockets, looking for keys. Fingers numb. I remove the key to Bebop and give it to Alisa, who takes it without a word. She gathers the boy, the pillowcase packed by Faye. She doesn't say goodbye.

"She doesn't love that child." Says Faye.

I don't answer. I don't know what the hell just happened.

"She just wanted our fucking ship."

"Maybe."

"I'm going to bed." She says.

Faye walks away from me, pulling the red dress over her head. I stay up for a while, smoking in the dark.

I can hear Faye crying in the other room, a soft jerking sound. I strip to my underwear and crawl quietly into her bed. I wrap my arms around her. The crying stops and now she has the hiccups. I pull her hard to my chest and her lips brush my arm. She kisses the crook of my elbow. The curve of her ass presses against me. I will my erection to shrink but it's hopeless. I'm about as hard as I can be. Faye doesn't move away from me, nor does she move closer. Her breathing deepens slowly and she mumbles in her sleep and my arms are bright with needles holding her.

I fall asleep.

-

My friend or should I say step-sister was thirteen when she got her period. She was terrified and didn't want anyone to know. I found her panties, smeared brown with blood. She had buried them in the bathroom wastebasket, beneath a heap of ripped tissue. I imagined she was afraid of what foster parents would say. But the bathroom wasn't exactly safe so I took the wastebasket outside. I burned the panties and tissue in the alley, then scattered the ashes. I had few woolongs saved in a coffee can. I went to her room and asked if she wanted to go to the store. _Why_, she said. _I have some money_, I said. _I'll buy us candy_. At the drugstore I held her hand. The floors were bright and waxed. I let her choose a bag of butterscotch candy, then led her past the shaving cream, the Band Aids and cold medicine. There were dozens of different tampons and pads. She was sucking the candy, her face red. _What kind do you need?_ I said. Her hand small and sweating in mine. She just shook her head. She said she was going to throw up and went outside. I found a lady with a nice face and asked her to help me. She told me what kind to buy, what size. She was waiting for me outside. I gave her the box of pads and told her to hide them in her room when we got home.

I hate these nostalgic dreams.

Morning, bright. I realize just how small the apartment is. Faye brings me coffee, black and sweet. I sit in the armchair.

"What about the dog?" Faye says.

"Ein?"

"Do you think Alisa will feed him?"

"He's okay."

"How long will we stay here?"

Not yet noon and the sun is brutal. The heat is like a glove in my mouth. The door to the apartment is open. A man and woman argue in the alley. Their car won't start. Dead battery grinding. The man let his sister borrow the cables. The woman can't believe it.

"You trust her, then." Faye stares at me.

"No. I don't trust her."

"Then how could you leave Ein with her? And Henry?"

I am sweating so intensely I can taste salt on my upper lip. The fan blows steadily, rattling as it turns. Faye goes into the kitchen and crashes around. She's worried, that's all. I think of Ein. The dog's small. He weighs a little and his jaws aren't that massive. But he's smart as hell. He would be much harder to kill than a puppy. The kid, on the other hand. The kid worries me.

"Tonight," says Faye. "I think it might be best if you slept on the couch."

"...yeah."

Faye disappears for a while. Pipes crying in the walls and I decide she's in the shower. I stretch out like a corpse on the floor. Half corpse, only two limbs moving. I smoke cigarettes and stare at the ceiling, searching for patterns in the grooved paint. The phone rings twice and stops. Faye comes out of the bedroom, hair dripping. She puts water on to boil and soon brings me a cup of tea without speaking. She sits on a barstool. She wears a long sleeveless white T-shirt, wet and transparent around the neck. The tea is green, bitter. I blow on it, watching her. She smokes one of my cigarettes. The ash grows long and fragile and I wait for it to fall.

"Jet called." She says.

"Fuck. What did he say?"

"Not much. I told him you weren't here."

"And?"

_Spike? He... he's not here, what would he do here?  
-I can hear him breathing Julia._

"He said he could hear you breathing."

She said it exactly as Julia did when Vicious called, long time ago.

"This is crazy."

"How did he get this number?" She says.

I rub my mouth. "I gave it to him."

"Why?" She says.

"I had to. I didn't want him to find Alisa."

She crushes her cigarette. A string of smoke rises.

"That's sweet. What about me? And Henry."

"Henry isn't here."

Faye's eyes are needle black. "I wish you would do something about this." She says.

In the bathroom I throw water at my face. I clean my teeth. I try to clean the bathroom but it's hopeless. I hear a pounding, heavy and sustained, coming from the front room. I come out of the bathroom and Faye still sits on the stool.

"Someone at the door." I say.

The pounding continues, now with long pauses.

"I think it's for you." She says.

I go to open it and Jet stands there. The fishing hat is pulled down tight over his skull. His eyes are swollen and red, his face sweating.

"Hey," he says. "You want to go to a movie?"

"Jet. This isn't it a good time."

"The matinee," he says. "It's cheaper."

I hesitate. "Come in, Jet."

"Faye?" Jet takes a step back.

I glance around at her. Pale purple hair still dripping. The sun behind her. Long white T-shirt. Long naked arms and thighs. Bright flash of panties as she crosses her legs, like a shooting star. I stare hard at her and she presses her thighs together.

"Faye," I say. "I... well, that's how it is."

"Oh. I thought it would turn out like this." He scratches his throat. "What about you Faye, do you like movies?"

"Let's go, Jet." I say.

My car is hot and damp inside, with the faint smell of dog. The engine coughs and dies. I light a cigarette. I notice there's a raw place inside my mouth. I've been chewing it and can't seem to stop. The engine coughs, dies. I'm wondering how Jet got hold of Faye's rented apartment address. The engine catches finally and I wait for it warm up. Try the radio but it's dead, and Jet commences to hum, tunelessly.

"Faye's still the same," he says. "You might tell her to put some clothes on, though. As always."

"We weren't expecting you."

"Huh. I told her over the phone I was coming." He says.

"And how'd you find us?" I say.

Jet shrugs. "Followed my nose."

"Right."

"Anyway. Same old nice little body. Maybe she's proud of it."

"Be careful, Jet."

"Sorry. I don't mean any harm."

Jet sits with his knees clutched together. I fasten my seatbelt and Jet shakes his head violently. He hits the release button and my seatbelt snaps loose.

"Dangerous," says Jet. "I don't believe in them."

I stare at him. "How's that?"

"Like to cut your damn head off."

I refasten the belt.

"That wreck me and old Alisa had," says Jet. "I wasn't wearing a belt. Not a scratch on me."

"Yeah. What about Alisa?"

"The Lord wasn't watching out for her."

"Why not?"

Jet shrugs. "She's a woman."

"Right. What does that mean?"

"Book of Genesis. Woman eats that apple and her destiny is her own."

_-Be careful, when you're with that woman._

Jet again reaches for my release button and I stop his hand.

Vicious and I - seriously who am I playing now?

"Tell me this. Are you an organ donor?" Jet says.

"No. As a matter of fact, I'm not."

"Smart boy."

"How do you figure?"

"Hell, son. They don't let you in Paradise with a missing kidney."

At the Paris Theater the porn flicks run all day. In the lobby they sell condoms and cigarettes. Bright yellow popcorn and candy. A silent black man stares at us from behind the counter. Jet shrugs and defers to me. I hold up two fingers and put ten woolongs on the counter, for the tickets. Jet produces a wet clump of singles and buys a vial of rush and a giant bucket of popcorn.

"Extra butter on there." He says.

We enter the dark.

I count maybe twelve heads. None of them sitting together. Jet insists on sitting in the front row. He passes the bucket of popcorn and begins huffing deeply from the vial. The popcorn smells like burnt hair and the butter is slimy. I wish I'd gotten some candy. Jet leans back with a blank grin on his face. He offers me the vial and it's like sniffing bleach, dizzy at first then a headache.

The first movie features a young girl with vacant stare and massive breasts. The dialogue is minimal. The girl has car trouble. A salesman stops in a rental car.

"I bet you like that." Says Jet after fifteen minutes.

Next, a truck driver comes along. He drags the girl into the back of his truck. He starts choking her.

Hell just ain't the same.

Boa Constrictor.

Jet giggles, stuffing popcorn in his mouth.

Last is a highway patrolman. He reads the girl her rights and takes her to a shitty motel. He handcuffs her to the bed and shoves his black billyclub deep inside her.

"Now, that's what I'm talking about." Says Jet.

"That's got to be fake."

Jet jerks in his seat. "Are you kidding me?"

"That thing is at least two feet long."

"Don't know much about modern film do you?"

"Like what?"

"Method acting," Jet says. "It's all for real."

_-Bang..._

I was acting back then.

Was it for real?  
Did I kill him for real?

The credits roll and I get up. Outside the sky is white as a salt flat. Jet follows me out. I smoke, leaning against the car.

"The second feature is starting." Jet says.

"I have to go, Jet."

"There's still some of that popcorn left."

"Jet, what do you want from me?"

"Nothing," he says. "I'd like us to be friends though. I figure we're friends you have to tell me where Alisa is."

"I don't know where she is."

_-Of course you know._

Shut up.

_-Same mistake, Spike, same mistake... just remember._

Jet stares at the sky. "I'll give you a call."

"Do that." I say.

"We'll get high and go to the zoo. The reptile house is crazy."

I almost crash with the car. Driving with one hand. I've never been in car accident. I relase my seatbelt. No insurance.

Faye sits on the floor with photographs scattered around her. Black and white body parts. Arms and legs and feet. Shoulders, breasts and throats. She avoids faces because of her portrait work. She uses a razorblade to dismember her images. Some of these she will display alone on gray paper. Others she touches with paint, using a fine hair brush. Her shirt is smeared with paint. She still wears only the T-shirt and panties and I remember what Jet said. She knew he was coming. She doesn't look up.

"Be careful, Faye."

"What." She says.

"The razor. Don't cut yourself."

I sit in the chair by the window. I smoke two cigarettes, one after the other. My hands shake. I would kill somebody for a drink. I reach for the phone and dial my phone on the ship. Alisa isn't there but I tell the machine I want to see her. I tell her to meet me for breakfast the next day, and name a cheap diner. I tell her to bring Henry. My voice is hard, echoing back at me. Faye looks up then. She looks at me the way she used to, when I left to die.

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry." I say.

She gets up, walks toward me. Brown and green fingerprints like bruises on her long thighs. She leans to kiss me. I turn and her open lips find my mouth then pull away. The red tip of her tongue like a ghost against my teeth.

"I made some iced tea," she says. "It should be cold now."

I stare through her, touching my mouth.

My toungue hurts because of the smokes. That tea would ease the pain. But I won't drink it. Because the pain seems oddly familiar.

"I think it's going to rain." I say.

Those dreams I have.

We're not kids anymore.

Even I changed.

The blade in my gut moved a fatal, microscopic distance.

I didn't deserve to walk away. There are no happy endings.

I look at Faye. Jet is crazy, he wants Alisa, I can't give her to him. Faye wants the boy. She'll get him.

Long time ago Julia wanted to escape with me, fake passports. Then gunshot boomed and she fell down in slow-motion. The bullet holes were rubies on her chest, blood glowing on her ivory skin. She was so beautiful. The killer was smiling... I was smiling. I knew the appetites of ghosts intimately. They hungered for revenge.

They were all dead. It isn't how good you are, It's chaos and luck and anyone who thinks differently is a fool. Firstly, I thought I died. I became cold. I thought everything was a dream, I never get any joy out of living.

Without passion you are already dead.

Things got simple.

I killed Vicious.

He killed me.

I had a dream of Julia. She was dead. But it was alright.

A new identity, cause the syndicate was after me. I started a new life with Faye.

But I learned something in my life...

You can't run from your past. You'll end up running in circles.

My tongue hurts because of the cigarettes. The tea Faye made would ease the pain. So what should I do, _now_?

The first step... shall be to lose the way.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, so the basics of the story are, that history is replaying. The same 'your best friend, your best foe', which probably happened is happening now. And its Spike who is vicious this time. 

And there is one connection between present and Spike's dreams about his past. But later about that.


	4. Big Empty

**Big Empty**

----

Thanks to scissors, I removed the braces. They were just getting in my way.

Now I'm out.

Voices drift past like television. Dead weight in my lungs. Alisa wears a short yellow dress. Legs long and curved. I watch her from across the street. The yellow dress is thin, transparent in the sun. She holds the struggling child to her chest. She breathes heavily. Sunglasses black across her face and blue bandana tied around her throat. She stops to shift the child and he throws open his mouth. Long piercing cry. Alisa pulls open the heavy glass door of cafe and even from where I stand I can smell the air conditioning.

I cross the street, watching them through the window. Alisa goes to a booth. She removes the sunglasses and her face is defined by visible bones. Lips like a cut across her face. The scars thick around her left eye. Her hair is tangled, brown and white. She bends to put Henry on the floor, his feet drumming. A waitress comes over, who says something, pointing at the boy. Alisa appears to agree. She tries to lift him by the armpits. He jerks his head and tries to bite. Blue of a vein at her temple and her mouth clamped shut. Grinding her teeth. The boy is strong. He refuses to sit in a chair. Alisa releases him to the floor, turns to glare at the waitress. Henry puts four fingers in his mouth. Suck and chew. Alisa sits with her hands flat on the table.

I wait another minute before going inside. Hot air swallows behind me with swing of door. I scan the room before facing her. The waitress is about forty. Her legs are shapeless in fleshy tights. She has grease stains across her shrunken bosom. Alisa is staring at me. Her mouth twisted, amused. The boy is asleep now, safe under the table. My hands are dirty. I scratch my head. I am shivering in the sudden cold and now I sit down across from her.

"I'm sorry for hitting you." I say.

Long silence.

"Does it hurt?"

"Bruised." She says.

"I want the key to Bebop."

She licks her teeth. "Do you have any cigarettes?"

I grope myself for the wrinkled pack.

She pulls out matches, lights one, snaps her wrist and exhales through the nose.

"You look like shit. Does Faye tell you that?" She says.

I open my mouth and immediately close it. Alisa places my key in the center of the table. The waitress appears, a pad and pencil between dull nicotine fingers.

"What can I get you folks?"

"Eggs, over easy. Hashbrowns," I say. "And ice water."

Alisa smokes and says nothing. The waitress goes away.

"Is Ein okay?"

"The dog, you mean?"

"Yes. The dog."

Alisa shrugs. "He's lonely."

I take a stone egg from my pocket, place it on the table.

"What is that thing?"

"Jet gave it to me. He said it was found in the hand of a dead prostitute."

The blue coin of her good eye. She twists her lip.

"Is that a threat?" She says.

"It's a gift." I say.

"I'm not a prostitute."

"That's right. You're a mother."

Alisa drags her nails across table.

My head feels clotted, as if hungover. Brief clarity then sick. But that's not possible. I have been hatefully sober. Alisa is watching me.

"One thing," I say. "Why did you bite Faye?"

Alisa laughs. "An accident," she says. "I was kissing her thigh and got excited."

"How do you do that?" I say. "With your eye."

"Do what?"

"It changes colors. When you lie."

Something we have in common.

"No, it doesn't." She takes another cigarette.

The waitress returns with a tray. She unloads the food, two waters, and a shotglass of sugar packets. I reach for a fork. The hashbrowns are yellow, glistening. The child wakes up growling. Alisa pulls him to her lap and he slaps a water glass to the floor. I take a small bite, then cover my plate with salt.

The child howls, no. His only word. He kicks the table and Alisa's coffee spills, spreading dark as blood. The waitress moves around us, pushing water and glass with a mop. I look at the boy, then at my food.

"Is he hungry?" I say.

"No. Give me your water."

I slide the glass over. Alisa tears open four sugar packets, dumps them into the water, swirls it with spoon. She lifts the glass to the child's open mouth, blows in his ear. He drinks noisily, becomes calm. For a minute he looks like a normal baby. One fat red hand pulling his mother's hair. Alisa smiles, eyes glittering. Ruined lips thin, almost touching.

"Sugar," she says. "I think he's diabetic."

A storm is moving in. The morning sky is dark and the waitress turns on the overhead lights. Alisa is watching me.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I don't want to hurt you."

"What do you want? "

"Faye wants the baby."

"Okay," she says. "But I want money."

The waitress comes back, dangles the check in my face. I fish out a wad of bills and coins scatter from my hand. Alisa whispering to child. I pick up a fallen coin, put it in my mouth. The taste of dirt. I lift the stone egg, turn it in electric light. Smooth gray with webs of pink. I offer it to Alisa and she takes it.

"Did Jet really give it you?"

"No. I found it."

"What about the prostitute?"

"She was dead. Like I said."

"What about Jet?"

"He's okay." I feel my right eye changing color.

Outside the sky is contorted. Fat drops of rain. I swear her eye changes from blue to gold.

She reminds me to get money and we stop at a machine. Her voice is slick. The wind blows hair in her mouth. She spits. I shove in the card, punch my code. Salt on my lips and I wish I had something sweet. Alisa waits, bouncing the child. The money is bright and new. I push it into my pocket.

She smiles. "Do you want to carry the baby?" She says.

Together we cross the street. Alisa walks ahead with arms swinging. Her elbows remind me of scissors. The heavy smell of tar. She stops in the far lane and crouches, her feet apart. The hem of her dress flapping in the wind. Muscles jump in my legs, watching her. Her head is lowered between her knees, her hands loose dangling. Warm raindrops crash around me, large as eyes.

I stop behind her. Henry is heavy and smells like urine.

"Look." She says.

Black roots and stiff clumps of grass, knotted in the iron mouth of the sewer. A clot of intestinal matter at her feet, the color of mucus. A bird, freshly killed.

"Broken wing," she says. "Fell to earth."

The bird is large and black, a crow. It appears to be headless but the neck is only crushed beneath its body. The light changes to green. With a finger Alisa pokes the creature, rolls it over. A car approaches, fast. The crow's head is mashed to its chest, the skull like jelly. Broken glass in a cloth sack, wet.

"There's a car coming." I say.

The feathers appear to move. I glance at the boy. His thin hair is still. There's no breeze at all and I realize Alisa is blowing on the bird's body. She looks up, pleased. She returns the crow to its original position. The car blows past us, its horn screaming. Alisa shrugs, smiling. Wrinkles twist around her eyes.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" She says.

"Come on." I say.

She walks away. I follow her to Bebop.

I break the elastic of her panties getting them off. I hold her down by the hair and tear at her mouth with mine, fucking her on the floor. The laces of my left boot in a knot, my pants tangled. I fumble with her bandana. Then her tongue snakes into my ear. Her breath is white, hot. The pain is brilliant, shining but distant. The telephone rings once, stops.

Then black.

I wake up blind, my hands numb asleep. Alisa is gone. The rush of needles under skin. A shirt covers my face. I pull myself upright, naked but for one boot. She must have gotten my pants off. The money. The right side of my head is hot and throbbing. My throat feels sticky. I swing a dead hand and my phone crashes to the floor. My own bed is unfamiliar and I smell vomit. I go to the bathroom and run cold water over my hands. In the mirror my hair is rich with blood. Dried and black around my right ear, which looks like nothing so much as a torn leaf. I examine the wound, holding my breath. She bit off the upper half of my ear. The toilet is right beside me and still I throw up on the floor. Acid in my throat and nose. Dry heaves. I swallow a mouthful of bile. I dip my hand in the toilet, splash water to my ear. The water burns and I'm bleeding again. Porcelain cold and hard against my chest. I wait to be sick again. It's coming as sure as thunder.

Ein appears in the doorway. He gives my ear a casual lick, then turns to eat the vomit.

I kick at him, weakly. Then I hear a low whimper. Henry is asleep in the bathtub.

Tucked under the boy's round head is a scrap of paper. I glance at it and the words swim in my head and I put it in my pocket for later. I arrange the boy in a nylon knapsack, padded with some clothes, so his melon won't bounce too much. Zip him up around the armpits. I wrap the end of the dog's leash around my fist and clip it to Ein's collar. Near to passing out. The dog pulls us down the street. He seems to know where he's going. The wind is to our backs, thank god. My hair is stiff with blood. People turn to look at me and I feel strangely serene.

I can't manage the door. Faye opens it and Ein bolts through, the leash trailing behind. He finds the toilet and lapping noises echo. Dimly it occurs to me that Alisa was probably starving him.

"Spike. Your head." Says Faye.

I give her the knapsack. She unzips it and holds the baby as he slides free.

"The boy is heavy." I say.

"What happened to your head?"

"I brought some extra clothes, too. And the dog."

"Spike." She says.

"I just hope the little fucker didn't piss on my clothes."

"Spike," she says. "Why is your hair full of blood?"

Faye is screaming.

Her hand on my head and the ear burns at her touch.

I look around, confused by the horizon.

"Faye please. I just want to sleep."

-

_I hope life isn't a big joke, because I don't get it._


	5. Perish the sun

**Perish the Sun**

----

_He was talking before, but now... he's just silent._

It's called changeover, the movie goes on, and nobody in the audience has any idea.

-

For two days I stink and fester on the couch. Faye cleans my wound but I won't let her bandage it. The bleeding stops anyway, and she smears it with antibiotic. My skull aches so badly I think I'm blind. Faye won't let me have aspirin because the bleeding might start again. She brings me iced tea cloudy with sugar. I put the melting cubes on my eyelids. She brings a mirror so I can look at the ear, a torn bird's wing. Ein sleeps on the floor beside the couch. Faye moves, rippling like water around us, doing mother and baby things. Her small soft feet whisper across the wood floor. She thinks I fought Alisa for the baby and I don't tell her different. She sings to the boy when he cries.

I wake up and my head feels clear. Looks like mid afternoon. My bladder burns and I desperately need to bathe. My legs feel funny when I get up. I hear voices and splashing. Faye is in the bathtub with Henry. I stand in the doorway and she smiles at me. Henry has soap on his head. He slaps the water with his tiny open palms. Faye asks how I feel. Her round breasts are shiny and wet. She makes no move to cover them. I stare at them a tick too long. I feel cold as hell. I'm freezing. I feel sterile.

"I feel better." I say.

I bend to kiss the top of her head and it occurs to me that she can smell me. She can smell Alisa on me. Henry squeals and chatters. I lift the toilet seat and urinate loudly.

"He's talking more." She says.

"He sounds like a fucking monkey."

She doesn't answer and I turn to the mirror. My hair is just enough to hide the shredded ear.

Henry goes to sleep without a fight. Faye and I stay up, drinking coffee. Talking back and forth in meaningless splinters. Faye curls up next to me on the floor. Her hand restless on my stomach, moving like a spider.

"I'm sorry about everything." I say.

"Don't be." She says.

"I'll work on that."

"How is the couch," she says. "Comfortable?"

"It's not bad."

"Come to bed with us. With me and Henry."

I follow her to the bedroom. She wears a short cotton nightgown with nothing under it. She bends to pet the dog and I see a flash of dark purple pubic hair. I wear a pair of ridiculous striped boxers she found in closet. Henry sleeps between us. Ein is a shadow in the doorway, watchful. I try to control my breathing, I try not to move.

-

Henry is crying and the bed is wet between us. Faye gets up to tend to him and I head for the bathroom. When I come out of the shower Faye is gone.

She left me a note.

_Gone shopping. Henry needs clothes. Keep an eye on him, please. Change the sheets if you don't mind & please put some medicine on your ear. Back soon. I'll cook a nice dinner tonight and we'll eat together, the three of us._

_Love, F._

I rip the rancid sheets from the bed and leave them in a knot on the floor.

"Nice dinner, huh?" This route's called disgust.

Henry seems to be learning to walk. He pulls himself up, wobbling with small fists on the table. I smoke and stare at the television. I open the door for Ein. The dog sniffs around the alley, pisses on some shriveled wildflowers and comes back. Henry falls over, his head cracking against the floor. He wriggles there like a beetle. I go to help him and faraway, in the back of my head, I hear screaming. Something like - _don't do that._

Faye crashes through the screen door carrying shopping bags, groceries. She has treats for the dog. I tell her she looks beautiful. She nods and asks where Henry is. I don't answer and she finds him asleep on the kitchen floor. His face is grimy.

"Spike." She says.

"What."

"Don't let him sleep on the floor."

I don't care.

She carries the boy to the couch. After we put the groceries away she wants to show off the baby gear. Little white socks and red Chuck Taylors. Overalls and pajamas. A baseball cap and t-shirts with Batman. Henry wakes up and she strips off his dirty clothes. She dresses him up in a new outfit. He doesn't resist. The hat is adjustable and she cinches it tight. Yosemite Sam, pistols blazing.

I smile.

"Isn't he cute?" She says.

"Oh, yeah. He looks just like Jet."

"Really? I think his eyes are like yours. The same brown."

"He isn't mine. Remember?"

White silence.

"Did you change the sheets?" She says.

"I didn't, actually. I forgot."

"I'm making pasta for dinner," she says. "Clam sauce and a salad."

"That sounds good."

"I got ice cream," she says. "For later."

Faye goes to the kitchen and begins chopping vegetables. She talks out loud as she works. She doesn't wait for me to answer. She seems happy.

After dinner, I gather the dishes and pile them in the sink. I dump in liquid soap and crank up the water, staring through the wall as the bubbles form. Hiss of insects outside. I light a cigarette and balance it on the windowsill, then start washing the dishes. I feel so sober it's like my skin is made of bleached wood.

I could kill someone.

Faye sits on the living room floor with a book. Henry stands next to her, unsteady. He holds onto her purple hair. Faye reads aloud from Winnie the Pooh. I finish the dishes and come to sit beside her and listen. I massage her feet. Her legs are bare. The mark of Alisa's mouth is almost gone.

"Your legs feel cold." I say.

She keeps reading. I reach under her shirt and stroke her ribs. My finger grazes the lower curve of her breast. She isn't wearing a bra. Henry has sinus trouble. His breathing is hoarse and labored and Faye abruptly pushes my hand away.

"Aren't you going to be late for work?"

"No." I say.

Henry flops over onto Faye's lap and begins to howl. I pull away from her, gather my keys. I leave for the Hole.

The night is deathly slow. I rake in eleven woolongs in tips. At closing there's a drunk who won't leave. The bouncer has gone home. Keith comes out of the back.

"Fucking sucks," he says. "Eight woolongs, I got."

He starts to comb his hair, squinting into the dirty mirror. His nostrils are raw. A lit cigarette hangs from his mouth.

"Pull me a draft, Spike."

I reach for a glass. Foam spurts from the tap. Keith notices the drunk.

"Let's go buddy" He says.

The drunk is muttering softly. Abruptly he starts crying. He has a crumpled woolong in one hand. Maybe an inch of beer in the bottle before him.

"Let's go. Hey."

The drunk doesn't answer. Keith slips the comb into his back pocket and pats his hair. He comes around the bar fast and without pausing knocks the weeping drunk off his stool.

"I said let's go. Fuck."

Keith takes a handful of hair and collar, starts dragging the drunk toward the door. Then changes his mind, swings the drunk up against the wall. He slaps him across the face. The sound is wet. I dip my thumb into Keith's beer, rub it across my lips. Tell myself to hate the taste of it.

"What's the matter? You fuck."

Keith slaps the drunk again and again. Then he looks at me.

"You want some of this?"

The drunk is hanging from Keith's fist like a sack of clothes. I come around the bar and study the drunk close. Breathing heavy like a wounded horse.

"Think he fainted." I say.

"What the hell?" says Keith. "Give him some."

I bring my fist up from below the waist, slow and heavy, as if I'm wading through water. I put my weight into it and at the last moment everything accelerates and like a hammer my fist sinks into the drunk's belly. Breath escapes his mouth, the smell of sick. Keith releases him and he collapses to the floor. I feel calm and faraway. Together we drag the guy to the curb and dump him.

In the car on autopilot and I forget where I'm going. I arrive at Bebop and it smells empty. It doesn't smell like me. I slap at the light switch and I get nothing. Try another one and still nothing. Batteries ran out. I light a match and look around. Feel like I'm seeing it for the first time and it's really an ugly little place. The furniture is torn and broken and the bulbs are all blacked out, like a crazy person lives here. The computer and stereo are the only things of any value. I take the computer down to the car, thinking I'll hit a pawnshop tomorrow. Batteries and fuel, though I'm not sure I want to pay it. I'd rather live in Faye's apartment. I know it's not really a family. It barely resembles one. I'm dead inside and I'm shacked up with Faye, a borrowed dog, and a retarded kid. I shake my head and go back upstairs for the stereo. On the couch is Alisa's bandana. She must have left it the other day, as I have the only key.

Faye is still awake when I come in. Her eyes are raw and shifting.

"What's wrong?" I say.

"Jet was here. He just showed up."

"Why did you let him in?"

"The door was open. It was hot in here. He just walked in."

"Did he see the kid?"

"No. Henry was asleep, in bed. But there was a pacifier on the table."

"Well. Did he see it?"

"I don't think so," she says. "I think Ein made him nervous."

"Good. What else?"

"He got me high."

"That's nice, Faye. What was it?"

"He said it was red but it felt like dirt."

"How do you feel?"

"Stupid." She says.

Her hands are red, tangled in a knot.

"Faye. Did something happen?"

"He asked me to go to the zoo with him."

"What did you say?"

"I told him to call me. I was afraid to say no."

"Don't worry. If anyone goes to the zoo with Jet it will be me."

"Is he going to take Henry away?"

"No," I say. "Don't worry about it."

Faye lights a cigarette.

"Did you hear me?" I say.

Faye smokes.

"Yeah..." She says, finally.

In the morning I'm restless, jumpy. Faye is feeding the boy. I tell her I'm going out and not to answer the phone. I stop at a pawnshop downtown and unload the computer and stereo, then just drive around a while, aimless, smoking. Almost noon and the sky, thank God, is like flesh on a slab. I don't think I could stand to see the sun today. The streets are deserted. I stop for coffee at the corner store. The owner is an old Greek woman named Odessa. She likes me and always remembers my brand of cigarettes. I remind her that I owe her a woolong but she waves it away, tells me to keep it. She says a fresh pot is almost ready. I wait, looking at a magazine.

A woman about my age comes in. She wears cutoff jeans and a sweatshirt, canvas sneakers unlaced. Three little kids trail along behind her. She acts like their mother. She tells them to hush so she can think. The little girl gets milk and cheese and butter, holding them in her shirt. In the back of one aisle the two brothers find a bag of sugar, spilled open on the floor. They hunch over it, shoving and muttering. They spoon it up with fingers, smearing their mouths white. The woman hollers at them to get out of that shit. The smaller boy stops and moves away. I pour coffee into a cup, peel open the cream substitute. The other boy is eating sugar as fast as he can. Odessa watches the mother. I stir my coffee. The mother sees her boy still bent over the sugar and her face twists into a knot. She comes up behind him slow and silent. She looks at me and touches a finger to her lips. I stare back at her, stirring my coffee. In a fluid motion the woman slips off one sneaker and smacks the boy in the back of the head, with a sound like a paddle slapping water. The boy chokes, spits a mouthful of ropy half-digested sugar, and pitches forward on his belly. He rolls over on his back and refuses to get up. The other kids run outside. The woman is screaming at the boy and now Odessa comes around the counter with a baseball bat in hand. I come to life and step between them... then think better of it.

On my way out I leave woolongs at the register. The boy and girl wait together by a payphone, sullen and watchful. I feel like I should reassure them, tell them everything is going to be okay, but I don't think it is. And moreover, I don't want to...

_I could kill someone._

I pick up a whore two blocks away. She looks ravaged but she's young and skinny. Dark red hair shiny with product. Slick white dress clinging to her hips like rubber. Pale yellow stains under the arms. High silver boots splattered with mud. She gets into the car, clutching a silver purse. She stinks of perfume and her face is strangely lopsided. There's something wrong with her nose.

"What?" She says.

"Nothing. Is your nose broken?"

She wipes it, violently. "You a freak?" She says.

I shrug. The car idles.

"Okay. What do you want?"

"What's on the menu?"

"Two hundred I'll blow you. Five hundred for the whole throw."

I give her five hundred woolongs. She counts it and slips it down one boot.

"And I don't do any freak shit."

I ease the car away from the curb and drive toward the river. She complains bitterly about the broken radio. I tell her it only works sometimes, when I hit a bump. She grunts and sniffs. I park near the old bridge. The whore looks out the window.

"I hate the river." She says.

"Don't look at it."

She snaps open the silver purse and gives me a condom, then yanks the white dress up around her waist. She doesn't wear panties and she has no pubic hair at all.

"Wait a minute." I say.

"What for?"

The condom is bright green, slippery under plastic. Hot breath of wind through my car window, the stink of the river.

I have an image of Vicious, drunk and gutting a fish.

That gutted fish's handing him a stone egg.

"Let's get out of the car." I say.

She stares at me. I push open my door.

"Let's go." I say.

"No way," she says. "I don't do it in the grass."

In the backseat she crouches over me, the heels of her boots tearing into cloth seats. She pulls the dress over her head and drops it to the floor. She has small breasts with big pink nipples. I suck one of them briefly. It tastes like a cigarette. Her mouth is open, a string of spittle hanging from the lower lip. Her breathing is ragged and from this vantage I can see her nostrils are nearly collapsed. I wrap my hands around her throat. She stares out the window, blank. My thumbs find the soft hollows under her jaw. I squeeze just hard enough to stop her breath and now her eyes focus. I release her and let my hands fall like stones. I'm inside her but I can't feel anything.

I close my eyes and again I think of gutted fish.

I'll do it again.

It's called changeover.


	6. Darkness visible

A/N: Now we're getting somewhere. Thanks for reading it.

* * *

**Darkness Visible**

----

Faye waits for me at the apartment. Dark smile when I come through the door. She wears a black bikini top and a white cotton skirt, soft and transparent as a puff of smoke around her thighs. I mutter hello and go directly to the bathroom, wash the stink of blood from my hands and face. When I come out I see that Henry too is dressed to go out. He wears army green overalls and a Batman t-shirt. I look around. There's a picnic basket on the table, a blue blanket. Two baseball gloves. A bottle of wine.

"Are you hungry?" She says.

"Starving."

"Good," she says. "I thought we'd have a picnic."

"Okay. Where do you want to go?"

"To the river," she says. "Maybe the sun will come out."

I would surely violate some law of physics if I returned with Faye to the same spot where I killed a whore less than an hour ago, and possibly burst into flames. So I drive to Dev's Park, a small oasis of green high on the bluffs overlooking the river. Faye walks slowly toward the bluff's edge, Henry trailing along beside her. I carry the picnic gear, Ein trotting beside me. I glance up at the memorial. Earth, year 2021... Gate incident, World war II, whatever.  
Together Faye and I spread a blanket in a patch of grass... The sky is white with clouds. The heat is almost visible.

In the distance a family plays some kind of game, sort of like kickball. The father is a fat man in short pants. He kicks the ball impossibly far and the kids chase it. The mother sits in a folding chair. Along the concrete path, two boys are training a pit bull. They hold a broomstick high between their naked chests. The dog hangs there, motionless with jaws locked. He wears a chest harness. One boy jabs at him with a screwdriver, trying to make him flinch. Faye tosses me a glove and I move back a few yards. She gives Henry something to play with. He flails around on the blanket while Faye and I just play catch. Same way I did when I was kid. The ball flashing back and forth straight as a rope. The slap of leather. Ein runs in a circle, barking. I tell Faye she has a good arm for a woman.

She throws the ball harder.

The pit bull hangs like a stone between the two boys.

Ein is watchful as Faye unpacks the food. Henry yanks viciously on his tail. The dog growls but never shows his teeth. I give Henry the baseball, hoping to distract him. He promptly throws it high in the air, and it thumps the dirt at his feet. Faye takes the ball away from him.

"It might land on his head." She says.

"That's the idea." I say.

"Very funny."

I have a terrible hunger and quickly destroy two turkey sandwiches and an apple. Then a piece of lemon pie, wash it down with sweet iced coffee from the thermos. Faye eats a handful of grapes. She opens the wine, asks if I mind her drinking.

"No." I say.

Henry smears his sandwich in the dirt. I extract it from his sticky fingers and toss it to the dog. Ein swallows it whole, gagging on the bread. I feel bloated and sit back to smoke.

Faye drinks half the bottle of wine.

She takes off her skirt, unfastens the strap of her bikini. She lies on her stomach in the gray sun. Ein goes to sleep. I sit beside him, my hand on his ribs. I can feels the dog's heart thumping, his breath going in and out. Henry crawls a few feet away. He pulls the head off a dandelion and eats it. A wasp hovers nearby and I wonder idly if it will sting the boy. I look at Faye. Her feet are smooth and curved. Her long legs are pale against the blue blanket. She reaches back with a finger to adjust her bikini bottom. I look away, at the boys with the pit bull. They lower him to the ground, wrestling the stick out of his mouth. They strap a muzzle over his face. One boy clips a chain to the harness, holding on with clenched fists. The other boy puts on black motorcycle gloves. Over and over he slaps the dog's face with the flat of his hand.

My sister and I were five and six the last time we took a bath together. Mother sat on the toilet, a cigarette in hand, one leg crossed over the other. Smoke twisting blue from her lips. She looked up from her magazine and warned us not to splash. The phone rang and she went to answer it. I immediately peed in the water. She hollered and tried to kick me. Mother thumped the wall with the heel of her hand. We held our breath and went silent so she wouldn't come back. Bored, I began flicking my little dick back and forth and soon it was hard. The water was shallow. She was watching me, curious. She moved closer and lowered her head to examine my thing. It looks silly, she said. She leaned closer and took it in her mouth and I became very still. The water around us was like glass. She sucked at it like it was her thumb. I was scared and hot. I saw black flowers in my head, then she spat out my dick and claimed it was like having a worm in her mouth.

I smoke cigarettes in the shadow of the Dev's until Faye wakes up. She asks me to refasten her bikini top. Even though there has been no sun, her back is burned. It's almost dusk, the sky is edged with purple. The sky looks like a bruise. The park is deserted. Across the river the clouds are stretched and black. Henry is curled up like a bug, snoring on the blanket. Ein beside him.

"How long was I sleeping?"

"Maybe an hour." I say.

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing," I say. "Thinking."

"Why do you look guilty?"

"I'm just thinking."

Faye reaches for the wine and I throw a stick for Ein. Faye smiles at me and I lean to kiss her, to taste the wine on her mouth. She's drunk and kisses me harder than she might otherwise. Her tongue darts into my mouth and I remember. She stops and pulls away.

"I should be careful." She says.

"Of what."

She takes one of my cigarettes and I light it for her.

"I hate you. Always did." She says.

"I don't care."

"Still," she says. "It scares me a little."

"Do you like it?"

"Sometimes." She blows smoke.

Ein stands at the edge of the blanket, watching us.

-

Dark when we get home. There are three messages on my phone from Jet. I am too tired to care. Faye puts Henry on the couch. He doesn't wake. I sprawl on the floor, drained by the heat. Faye lies down beside me and promptly passes out, her lips red with wine. I carry her to bed and undress her. Faye is naked on her back. Her hair loose against the white pillow. Her skin is burned, red with gold. She's beautiful and I cover her with a sheet. I take off my clothes. I remember the messages from Jet and go to make sure the doors and windows are locked. I turn off my phone and leave Henry sleeping on the couch with the dog. I crawl into Faye's bed without touching her.

--

_There once was a man._

_That man wanted whole island._

_That man had a friend, he called himself Spike._

_He was a good friend._

_But he wanted whole ocean..._

_-_

I don't remember falling asleep. The dark is blue and endless and I am violently awake. My skull pulses, like I have a fever. Faye beside me.

"First comes smiles, then comes lies, last is a gunfire." I say.

I look at my hands.

They feel different.

Distant voice in my head.

And then...

The torrent breaks through.

Spinning. Spinning. Spinning. Spinning. The world is spinning. Sun and moon. Female and lion. Angel and pollution. Colliding uphill paths. Broken hourglass. Upwards falling sand. Shattered window and door without handle. Darkness. Darkness. Darkness. Darkness. Darkness.

I'm getting crushed.

Melting wall. Solvable meaning. Self who can explain. Smoothness of changeable permeability. Transitioning time. Observation role and execution function. A pinky-less hand. Headless eyes. Rolling carpet. Once. Twice. Thrice. 666 cages. Burst balloon. Unfulfillable promise. Unprotectable law. Death contract. Poison and honey. Red and afterbirth. Mercury lamp and bug light. Light refraction to countless dimensions. Swimming fish, singing at the oncean bottom. Tools, tools, tools. Towards endlessly reproducing stars without meaning, without will. Better than wishes. Another only me. Unraveling deep sea. Contradictory that appears from microscopic organisms. Detailed view of a quark. Rejection of everything. Formless form. An embryo within a hearse.

What is this?

Cessation is disregard. The bleeding earth. Trade your blood for poison and you will attain immortality. Rose. Rose. Rose. Rose. Your splendor will not last forever. The way to reach Lohan's temple, eat this bread. Spreading defilement. The April that's farther than May. The reversal of limbs, awaken in the shrine of balance beyond the dual serpent and scorpion. The skin of rotten fruit. Burned puppet of celluloid. The cannabis of Legion. Grinding and friction. Sun and Moon. Colliding uphill paths. Female and lions. Broken hourglass. Spiraling clouds. I am unparalleled. Upwards falling sand. Five years ago. Killed. Killed. Killed. Killed. Killed. Killed. Killed. You. Killed. Me.

It's flowing.

No, I'm picking it up.

_-Yes, we are about to merge._

The fusion between me and him had already begun. It was five years ago. The top of the syndicate's building. Two men ready to finish it. Feasting birds. Someone's death. The gravitation towards extreme pain, spurting blood, going into shock. Shrinking field of vision. Nothing but darkness. Nothing but crimson. The crisis of death. Abortion. Cutting up the birthing woman when the baby is still inside, inside this hungry world, sampling the flesh of babies.

"All the things one has forgotten scream in our dreams, Spike." I, say.

I woke up.

"Finally." Faye's trashing with me.

--

In the morning Faye doesn't want to talk about it. She smokes one cigarette after another. Henry cries like a machine. I start a pot of coffee. There isn't any cream. Faye likes cream with coffee and I offer to go get some. She shakes her head.

"Faye." I say.

She watches her cigarette burn. My telephone rings.

"I'm going out with Henry," she says. "I'll be gone all morning."

"Where?" I say.

"I have to see someone."

The telephone still rings.

"Where are you going?" I say.

"I want you to be gone when I get back." She says.

The telephone still rings.

"What?" I say.

"I don't want you around anymore." She says.

The familiar feeling in my gut. Deja-vu.

"Faye."

Long time ago... Vicious got kicked out too.

"We aren't a family." She says. Her voice breaks.

The telephone rings. Close my eyes and try to feel something. I feel nothing. Eleven times the phone rings and finally I reach for it.

"Don't..." She says.

I get in my car and just drive around. The radio is working for once. I turn it up so loud it sounds like something on fire. Ein rides in the back seat, worried. As if he did something wrong. I scan the street, looking for the whore with red hair. But she won't show up, I know. But I feel like this is her fault and I want to do something to her... Expect I already did. What?

I have it all backwards.

Eventually I give up. I stop at the bank. I wait in line to get a balance statement from the machine. It looks like I gave most of my money to Alisa. There is barely enough left to pay the batteries and fuel and eat for a few days. I withdraw it all. Tell myself I need to find Jet. He doesn't know it, but he's not going to bother Faye anymore. I'll tell him Alisa left town, I'll make something up. She took the ride to Ganymede. It might even make sense. She lived down there for a while, with Jet... He will believe me. I'll give him some money for the transport, enough to get him there. I steer myself to the Theater. The same guy is behind the counter. He nods, as if he recognizes me. His eyes penetrate, soft as a whisper.

"Do you remember me?" I say.

He grunts and touches himself. The popcorn smells like hair.

"Is that popcorn fresh?"

He laughs. "Never. Not since I been here."

"Does anyone ever eat it?"

"Only your friend. Extra butter."

"Have you seen him?"

"Not today. But it's still early."

I consider going to the zoo. I imagine Jet wandering around, stoned. Fearful of the snakes and muttering to himself. Eating licorice and chewing his lips. Across the street is a liquor store. Eleven in the morning, they've just opened. I walk in and take a bottle of vodka from the freezer. It's going to be a hot day. I give the clerk twelve woolongs. Folded in my wallet is Alisa's note. Damp with sweat and torn. I go back to the car. Sit in the driver's seat with the windows rolled up. I talk to Ein. I tell him we're waiting for Jet, that the vodka is for him. The bottle is white with frost. I tell Ein it's a birthday present. To make Jet trust me. Then we can fucking be friends again. The dog growls in his sleep. I unfold the note. Alisa's handwriting is cramped and jagged. The ink has bled and most of the words are lost.

_I don't hate her --- sexy --- good mother ------ animals are good mothers -- no emotion -- mother lion ate two of her cubs --- were sick ---- Henry -- I wanted you --- she said only she would have you --- I make you sick --- you fuck me you ---- hate me ------ accident I was excited ------ so much blood ----- kill someone --- because it's silly --- don't be surprised if you see me -- be glad ----_

_Alisa __sometimes, Faye._

I bury myself in the seat.

"Okay..."

I wait for Jet.

"All this time with Faye..."

It was a lucky break. The ghosts inside me were spooked, but luck always came with a price tag.

_...throw the rules out the window...odds are you'll go that way too...the blade in my gut moved a fatal, microscopic distance...tools, tools, tools... _

_You can't hide from your past..._

You'll end up running in circles.

_-Looks like you're finally awake._

"..."

When you're waking up, the world is a blur. What was clear in a dream, suddenly makes no sense. No surreal rescues. No easy, magic way out.

But you are awake.


	7. Crucible

The world is filled with choices.  
Unlimited possibilities.

But sometimes the choices that are hardest to make, are because of a one choice that was made for you.

----

**Crucible**

----

_The past is a gaping hole. You try to run from it, but the more you run, the deeper it grows behind you, its edges yawning at your heels. Your only chance is to turn around and face it. But it's like looking down into the grave of your love, or kissing the mouth of a gun, a bullet trembling in its dark nest, ready to blow your head off._

_I felt the rise of that old familiar feeling... I hated it... I welcomed it..._

-

The centuries of lies  
Ezekiels chariots streak across the skies  
Holy books and history texts forget

Because we know  
Souls are recycled in the death and  
Resurrection show...

The bottle is warm, body temperature. Empty. I pick at the red label. Mutter the words to some song I can't remember. It's a beautiful song though and I fumble with the volume knob on the radio. Nothing. I look out the window. Theater. Something cold touches the back of my arm and I jerk my head against the car door. Dog in the back seat. Cold dog nose. I say hello and the dog whines, thumping his tail. The ein. I lean over and push open the other door. Tell the ein to go on, take him a piss. Stay out of the street, boy. I watch him through the window. Smoke. I want to smoke a cigarette.

Something banging on roof. Hollow metal. Someone knocking. Wide lips with mustache leaning in window. Shiny silver tie dangles from throat. _Hey fuckface this ain't no park. Get yer sucking dog and move this car out my lot._ I'm laughing. Tell the mustache I feel great. Five minutes yer sorry fuck. I whistle for the ein. The car won't start. Look down and key is broken off in ignition. I hit the dashboard once, twice. I beat the dashboard until my fist is purple still laughing. I guess we're walking, Ein boy. Lock the car as I get out. Stare at the broken key, stupid. Tell the ein what we need is a cold beer.

Long walk and hot as a mother. Too early. Nobody home this place. Neon beer signs in window dark. Face flat on black glass. The ein flops down on sidewalk. Tongue hanging out pink. Thirsty boy. I know. Next place is open, though. Sweet's Place. Dark velvet cool inside jukebox glow. In pocket are two twenties and a ten and cigarettes. Put money on bar flat. Focus and speak without slur. Draft and a shot of vodka and some water. Tell old man Sweet the ein is my seeing eye dog and I need him. Legally blind but I can see little bit.

Muscle control no good bathroom stall and door hangs one hinge. Cigarette on toilet edge burns out yellow track. Slow piss burn. Blue ink words swim on brick. Little ugly man leaning into white chrome. Want to get high good shit the best. Smiling he says, twenty bucks or blow me and he unzips pants. I am shaking head no thanks. I swing my fist swinging ugly dwarf man bobs sideways and I'm almost falling. Throw another and hit him in throat. Ugly man falls over. Then I'm kicking his face stomping him with heel of shoe and blood flash dark. Zipper caught on pants and wet shoes is time to go.

Girl says come with me. Her face lost in shadow. I am crammed in car, back seat. Hand up her dress. Then come to a party. Dark house floors wet and slick vibrate. Bodies slam into walls. Scream and smoke. Drag through kitchen then outside. Drums and feedback whine black guitar. In silence brightly sleep calls. Glass breaking colors sharp relief and fire in pit. Flames move fingers shadows running. Bodies leaping pit. Girl stumbles leg on fire laughing says it feels like ice. Then on sidewalk watching someone vomit and strange tongue hot in mouth. Hand pulling my dick. _Do you have any money give me the money._ Back inside house girl with terrible face whispering tight pants. Bedroom with guy his face dark only teeth and hat pulled low. Lock fucking door it's hot and windows painted shut. Girl circling like wolf. She blows in my ear my torn leaf and laughs. _Take your shirt off._ Blue flame. Black light. Hold your breath hold it hold your breath. I can't see the girl but I can feel her I can almost touch her.

--

_----I didn't have a choice._

--

Dark, wet grass. Thin trees shake half moon white. Voices carry from a house. Mosquitoes rape the skin but my hand won't lift to slap. Cigarette between fingers but I don't remember lighting it. On the ground next to me is a heavy piece of wood. Polished surface and slightly curved. One end sawed off the length of my arm. This is an axe handle. The house is familiar. I put the cigarette to my mouth. Tongue like ash and I spit. The skull hurts. I decide to enter the house, to find someone, anyone. My legs heavy in wet jeans. I leave the axe handle where it lies. I've been drinking. And by the taste of my hole, smoking rock. I wonder where Ein is.

Stink of incense bitter and music throbbing. Bodies on the floor whisper curses as I stumble over distended arms and legs, strange and boneless. Muscle and sigh under sliding flesh. Bright doorway is the kitchen. White and black tile floor buckled with water damage. A young boy stands at the sink, his chest naked. He sways from the hip. His left nipple is pierced, glitter of gold. Another boy sits on the floor, his baby face trembling. He sneezes repeatedly. The sides of his head are shaved, tattoo of pterodactyl under black stubble. The first boy offers a carved wooden pipe.

"The shit." He says.

"What?" I say.

Push past the kid to get to the sink. Hold myself upright with one hand, grope for the faucet. Open mouth under water turning cold. Rinse the ash and spit. Then I lean on the sink.

"Have you seen a dog?" I say.

The boys look at each other and giggle.

"Where is the bathroom, then?"

Boy on the floor sucks air through teeth.

"Where?"

"Upstairs." He says.

The carpet is muddy gray and wet. Narrow hallway with doors on each side. Legs unfold along the walls. Colorless facial features. Eyes and lips moving slow without recognition. A bare light bulb wobbles above and shadows jump as arms rise and fall, smoking. No one speaks to me. I open a random door to the sound of fucking. Two girls and a boy. Lit by candles their bodies seem unstable. Faces hidden in black crotches. Eating each other. I mumble, sorry. I just want to find a bathroom. Lock the door for five minutes. Sit on the edge of porcelain, study the mirror to make sure the face looks like mine. Next door is a bedroom. Bare futon mattress on wood floor. Clothes heaped. Only light is from a reading lamp aimed down in corner. Shadows huge and liquid crawling walls. On the futon is a white male facedown. Sleeping or unconscious. His back and shoulders are bloody. The wall above mattress splashed red. I linger for a moment then pull the door softly shut.

Word 'changeover' in my head.

I find a bathroom and the face is still mine. I'm wearing a t-shirt, dark blue. The ruined ear, scabbed and tender. I hold both wrists under cold water. My arms feel steady. I take off my shirt. The chest and stomach look normal. Dark stains on the shirt and I press it to my face. Liquor sweat cigarettes perfume salt. I can't separate them but the dominant scent is Alisa's. The date on my watch says 9 July. Thursday. I was born on a Thursday but was it Thursday when I put this blue shirt on. When I left Faye. I wasn't planning to see Alisa. I was looking for Jet. I wanted to tell him something, I wanted to do something to him. I throw water on my face and chest and use my shirt for a towel. Open the medicine cabinet, find aspirin and diet pills and vitamins. I take two of each. Then suffer the shift. Dull flash remember, then rapidly to black. We took our shirts off because of the heat. Windows shut to keep the air still. Eyes white unblinking. Blue flame hissing like a jet. The rock twisting bubbles slow cooking. Every detail agony. Skin shining with sweat. I recognize the face. Pulse thick and breath stopping.

I run back down the hall, blue stained shirt still in hand. The body on the futon hasn't moved. The room stinks and I slam the door. My fingers find the throat and there's no pulse. I lift the reading lamp from corner. The bulb smells like burning flesh. The mattress around the head is brown. Roll him over and there's a tearing sound. His forehead is stuck with dried blood. He's been hit in the head with something heavy, his nose and mouth bashed in. He looks different without the fishing hat, but it's Jet. His head is small, the bald spot pink. Shadow of a beard and lips pale. The scabbed cold sore in the corner of his mouth. Jet's eyes are open, black with clotted blood. His body is laced with cuts, some of them to the bone. Tendons and gray ropy tissue have been pulled from his arms. One of his thumbs has been sawed off.

My hand slips from the bloody shoulder.

I sit down beside the futon, notice a small black backpack open on the floor. Dig through it and find cottonballs, rubbing alcohol, hemostat, baking soda, torch, and pipe. A crumpled pack of cigarettes, a wallet. I extract the last cigarette from the pack. I try not to touch anything else. The stains on my shirt. The axe handle in the yard, slick and wet in the grass, the length of my arm. I have a knife in my pocket but I don't want to look at it.

The axe handle is gone. Someone came along and took it. Or else I can't remember where I was napping. Time to disappear. I didn't see anyone in the house I knew but they might well know me. I tend bar in a pretty popular dive. Everybody fucking knows me, it seems. I start walking. Not exactly sure what part of town this is, I'm so disoriented. Check my pockets and find seven woolongs, some coins. The knife. Ring of keys, one of them broken. My wallet is gone. I want to find a payphone, but who to call. Faye is not speaking to me. Alisa might know something but she will surely lie to me.

The sickness is setting in. Stomach fear and raw ache in the head. The memory guilt of sleepwalking. Twelve hours I've been in the black.

Changeover.

Find a working payphone, shut myself inside and still feel exposed. I have four coins and I know I will have to call Alisa. Even if she lies she might give me half the truth. The truth, mangled and stillborn. I try Faye first. She may not want me but she loves me. Dial the number and let it ring. Two in the morning and I get the machine. I say her name and wait. The machine disconnects. Dial tone. Without thinking I plug in more coins and dial my own phone. Alisa answers on the second ring.

"It's me."

"Who is this?"

"Spike."

"It's late. I'm trying to sleep."

"What are you doing there?"

"Spike. What do you want?"

"What are you doing at the ship?"

"This is my ship. I live here."

"Doesn't matter. Is Ein there?"

"The dog? I haven't seen him."

"I lost him. I lost Ein."

"Is that why you called?"

"Listen. Alisa. Were you with me tonight?"

"I don't think so. I've been home all night."

"Really. I can smell you on my clothes."

"What are you wearing?"

"A blue shirt."

"I'm wearing a white dress. I borrowed it from Faye today."

"Alisa."

"A white cotton dress, like a nightgown. I feel like Ophelia."

"For god's sake, Alisa."

"Was it a nice party?"

"No. It wasn't nice."

"What do you want?"

"I want to come home."

"I'm sorry."

"I pay the fucking fuel and batteries."

"The power is off."

"Alisa. I think I'm in trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"I think I did something."

"Are you sure you don't remember?"

"No. I don't."

"Spike. What did you do."

"I don't know. I don't know."

"It's good to forget."

"Alisa. I need a ride. I left my car somewhere."

"I have your car."

I shove a fist into my left eye and try to think. The car key is broken, the nub still on my ring. Alisa asks where I am, and now I look around. Near the hospital. The parking lot brightly lit. Insects hissing. There's a waffle house down the street. I can smell fried bread and salt. She tells me to wait for her there.

I stand outside a minute, paranoid. There's only one customer inside, a shaky looking old guy. He holds a coffee cup in two hands, trembling as if confronting his mother's breast. The waitress is a heavy woman leaning over the counter with a yellow sponge. I should be safe. The waitress will call me honey. I open the door, nervous under sudden white light. Look down. The stains on my shirt. I go directly to the bathroom, noting that there's an old world cigarette machine in the corner. In the bathroom I turn the shirt inside out and put it on again, and it's marginally improved. I come out and takes a booth facing the door. A radio behind the counter is tuned low to a country station.

The waitress smiles. "What will you have, dear?"

"Coffee, please."

After a minute a saucer and cup rattle before me.

"Are you alright?" She says.

Her face is pale and kind. She's chewing gum.

"I think so." I say.

"Cream with that?"

"No, thanks."

Shuddering silence. I ask her to give me change so I can buy cigarettes. She nods and dips into her pouch as I pull out one woolong after another and a long stretching moment later I stand before the machine with a handful of coins. My hand is unsteady and I tell myself to be careful. Finally, the machine rings true and I collect the pack below.

"Can I get a square from you little brother?"

The old man. The skin wrapped around his skull is of two colors. Patches of yellow and brown. His clothes are rotten. I shake out a cigarette and as he reaches for it I see his fingers have been broken countless times. The old man licks the butt and shoves it deep into his mouth, gray lips collapsing around it. He blows a massive cloud of smoke.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

The old man wrinkles his mouth and sniffs. "You hurt yourself?"

"No."

He grunts. "You smell like blood."

I back away from him, touching my ear.

The waitress fills my cup three times and asks if I want a menu. She sounds worried about me and finally I agree to a piece of pecan pie. She empties my ashtray. I begin to think Alisa isn't coming. She went back to sleep. I mention this to the waitress as she delivers my slice of pie and she just nods. "Whatever you say, honey."

I wonder where the hell Ein is, where I lost him. I try to remember meeting up with Jet. I remember looking for him. He was looking for me and I reckon we found each other. Jet had a red-eye and wanted to smoke it. I was drunk as a lord. Throwing money around. I can still taste the red in my eyes, my teeth. Like the smell of oranges left over from a dream. I close my eyes and try to reconstruct. If Alisa was in that room I can't see her. Jet's face, crushed. Something started in the perfect shadows. Eyes flashing like hammers. The twist of a mouth. Jet pressed me about Alisa, the baby. I told him I didn't know anything. Jet pushed me and said the wrong thing. What kind of guy fucks around with his own sister. There was a piece of wood leaning against the wall and I picked it up.

I could do that. I could do anything.

My sister Alisa.

I was vicious.

Reflection of a police car rolls through dark windows. Two cops get out and walk toward the door. Short sleeve summer uniforms, gun belts bulky with gear. Black boots bright. They come in and take seats at the counter, Billy clubs dangling. An empty stool left between them. Faces at an angle to mine. Cop faces. They are young and leave their hats on. The waitress brings them coffee. "Hello boys," she says. "You look tired."

They nod and mutter.

The old man concentrates on a plate of biscuits and gravy. I stop breathing. Try to be very still in my booth. Not looking for me, they're not looking for me. These boys are off duty and they don't give a shit. I'm invisible. I could scream and set my hair on fire and they would ask for more coffee. After a minute I feel myself begin to twitch. My head is tilted to one side. Lips barely parted, breathing. My cigarette burns untouched in the plastic ashtray. I lift my cup and it's empty.

I am now openly staring at the cops.

Headlights sweep the window and go black. I turn and see my own car parked beside the police cruiser. I can't tell if anyone is at the wheel. Turn around and one of the cops is looking at me. He's looking at me. His eyes curious and hard. My hand goes numb and I drop the coffee cup. It clatters on the table, spinning. I catch it before it hits the floor. The cop stands, stares through me, tugs at his belt. He walks toward the bathroom. The other one is murmuring to the waitress.

I turn to the window again. I see a girl in a white dress, running barefoot in shadows. She's running away. I put my money on the table. I walk slowly to the door and outside. The girl is gone. My car is idling, the windows rolled down. I open the driver's door and the dome light flicks on bright. I climb in as the car coughs and dies and the interior goes dark. There's just enough light coming from the waffle house to see. In the backseat Ein is curled very still, as if asleep. He doesn't look right and I'm afraid to touch him. I fumble around to restart the car but there's no key. The ignition casing is gone, hammered off. There's a screwdriver on the dashboard, next to my wallet. On the passenger seat is a fishing hat, smeared with blood and mucus. The vinyl seat is sticky and wet. On the floor is a black piece of wood the length of my arm, the axe handle. I reach for it and my hand comes away with bits of what my head screams is brain matter warm and wet stuck between the fingers. I wipe them violently on my jeans.

The stink of copper.

Ein has not yet moved.

Thirty seconds tick by distinct as raindrops on scorched earth. I reach around and put my hand on the dog's head and my heart stops briefly as Ein thumps his tail and presses his cold nose to my skin.

"Hey, boy. Let's get out of here."

I tell myself I have to be cool. I have to act like this is the most ordinary of ordinary days and I have all the time in the world. I pick up the screwdriver and stab it into the ignition. The car makes a terrible grinding noise and refuses to turn over. I screw my eyes shut and try again and again the noise is sickening.

Now footsteps.

"Do you have a problem, boy?"

I open my eyes and the cop is leaning in my window, one hand on his belt.

In the rear view mirror I see once more the flutter of a white dress disappearing like a moth in the dark.

-

The blade ran through my stomach, cutting up my internal organs.

While I was shooting down my friend.

_Prepare to evacuate soul._

I died.

_Now._

And I understood.

That we are not special.  
We are not crap or trash, either.

We just are.  
We just are, and what happens just happens.

And God says, "No, that's not right."

Yeah. Well. Whatever.

You can't teach God anything...

And he can't tell me anything new either.

_Because I know  
That souls are recycled in the death and__  
Resurrection show..._

----

end.


End file.
